Assignment
by Mistress of the Keyblade
Summary: Mylar, AU.  Mohinder works for  The Company, and his next assignment happens to be Sylar.  Read and Review please!


**I** **don't own Heroes, nor am I making any money or anything like that.**

**Assignment**

* * *

"Here is your assignment." Bennet handed Mohinder a plain manila folder with the name "Gray, Gabriel" printed on a label and stuck on the tab.

Mohinder nodded and began flipping through the folder, pausing at one or two pictures of particularly artistic murder scenes. He raised his eyebrows and waited for further instructions.

"He was born with the name Gabriel Gray, but he prefers to be called Sylar. You'll find a detailed list of his abilities in the folder. Your task is to observe him as if he were any other person with an ability. See if you can find the source of his power, as well as any links to his… psychological condition. Remember, he is extremely dangerous, so make sure the Haitian is with you whenever you visit him. If you feel it is necessary, go ahead and sedate him, but we would rather you keep him… alive."

Mohinder nodded, and Bennet smiled. "Good luck, Dr. Suresh," he said, and as the Haitian arrived to escort the scientist to Sylar's cell, he turned to leave.

On his way out, he took a couple of folded sheets of paper out of his suit pocket and threw them in the recycling bin. After all, there were some things about Sylar that Mohinder didn't need to know.

"Good morning, Gabriel," Mohinder said cheerily as he and the Haitian walked into the cell. Sylar sat on the bed with his legs crossed, staring at the ground. He didn't look up when they entered, but Mohinder heard him growl "Sylar."

"Sylar, then. I'm Dr. Suresh, and I'm going to be running a few tests on you." He was busy skimming over the first page of the folder, so he didn't catch Sylar's head snap up at the sound of his name, nor did he see the smirk that crept into his expression.

"Born in Queens," he murmured to himself as he read, "Raised Catholic, father deceased…" He flipped through a few more pages. "My, you have a long record of mischief," he said, looking up. By that time Sylar had returned to his previous position, and was examining the polished tiles of the floor. "It says here that your first murder was a man named Brian Davis. Is this information correct?"

Sylar nodded, and met Mohinder's eyes with a wicked look, the smirk from earlier returning. "Yes, I fixed him. He was the first of many." His smile grew wider, and the Indian looked down, disgusted with the levity with which this man discussed these gruesome murders.

"I… erm… I seem to be missing some information. It says your next murder was James Walker, but by then the FBI already had you listed as a serial killer, so there must have been other victims. Can you tell me what happened between when you killed Davis and when you killed Walker?" He looked up from the folder, and was unnerved by the fact that Sylar's grin had grown _even_ wider still, so that he now resembled the Cheshire Cat.

"Well, obviously I killed other people. A _series_ of other people, one might say. Isn't that what it takes to become a _serial_ killer nowadays?"

Mohinder frowned in irritation at the flippancy of this remark, but decided to ignore it. "Can you tell me any of their names?"

Sylar shrugged. "Don't always ask their names," he replied evasively. Mohinder clenched his jaw in frustration, but decided to abandon that line of inquiry.

"Very well, then I suppose I should proceed with the testing." He moved over to the machine behind Sylar, and began recording numbers. Resting heart rate. Normal body temperature. These sorts of things would be important for tests that he would do later.

He could feel Sylar's eyes on him as he passed, and he wasn't sure he wanted to turn his back on the murderer. While it was true that the man hadn't moved for the entire time he had been there, except to raise his head and smirk, and while he knew that he couldn't access his powers with the Haitian sitting in the corner, Mohinder still couldn't help glancing back over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure the killer was still seated as he had been.

"You know," Sylar said, not turning to face Mohinder, but speaking to the wall in front of him, "you're a lot cuter than the other scientists."

Mohinder didn't say anything, but he was very glad for his dark skin as he felt himself blush.

The sessions got easier as time went on, and Mohinder found Sylar to be a very obedient subject, despite his… colorful past. He was apprehensive the first time he had to draw blood, because while Sylar hadn't openly expressed any violent inclinations towards him, he had never tried to touch him before, let alone stick a needle in him.

His hands shook as he took Sylar's arm in his hand, the needle trembling so much he was reluctant to break the skin for fear of causing serious injury. Finally, he felt Sylar's hand on his, guiding the needle steadily to the vein. He stammered some mixture of gratitude and apology as he collected the sample he needed. Sylar smiled, and he felt himself blush again.

If the Haitian noticed anything weird about the relationship between the scientist and the killer, he certainly didn't seem like he was going to tell anyone about it. He looked on in silence so perfect, that Mohinder found himself sometimes forgetting he was there at all. If Mohinder's hand lingered on Sylar's arm for too long, Sylar wouldn't protest the invasion of his personal space, but he would nod subtly toward the corner to remind the scientist that everything they did was being watched. Mohinder would stammer an apology of course, because he often didn't notice he was doing it, but sometimes he wished he didn't have to constantly remember their silent witness.

He didn't know why it was so easy for him to ignore the fact that Sylar had killed many innocent people. Perhaps it was because he didn't know any of them. They were just names on a piece of paper, or a blurry, black and white photograph of something that wasn't even a person anymore. Perhaps if they had been real to him, he wouldn't have found himself conversing so easily with the man, even looking for reasons to stay in the cell after the day's research had been concluded. Maybe he wouldn't dream about his face, his voice, the feel of those fingers on his own if he rested his hand on that muscular shoulder. But they were just names, and so he found himself casting them out of his mind with ease.

"Where's your friend?"

"He had something he had to take care of," Mohinder lied, reading numbers off the display on the machine. It had been stupid of him, really, to risk coming in here without the Haitian, but he wanted some time alone with Sylar, he wanted to go farther, to feel those lips on his own, perhaps. Besides, Sylar hadn't shown any inclination toward escape in the past—

"You know, I'm kind of glad he's not here," Sylar said, and Mohinder felt his heart beat a little faster. He didn't hear Sylar get up, but a hand on his shoulder meant he had. He turned his head slightly to look into those eyes, so alert and intelligent and deep.

"Oh? Why's that?" he asked with a smile. Instead of an answer, soft lips captured his and he closed his eyes as a hand slid up his chest—and into the pocket of his lab coat.

He opened his eyes with a feeling of dread as he saw Sylar holding up his ID badge and wearing a triumphant smirk. He raised an arm and two fingers twitched slightly, sending Mohinder crashing into the wall. With a groan, he started to get up, but Sylar was already out the door and it had slammed shut, trapping him inside.

Sylar paused at the large glass window and looked in at him, smirking and holding up the ID like a prize. "You know, Mohinder, I was really beginning to like you. You're a lot nicer than you're father was. Just as gullible, but nicer." Laughing, he turned and left, and Mohinder was alone. He pounded uselessly at the sturdy glass window for a while, and then sat down on the bed to wait for someone to rescue him.

At least now he had an idea what had happened in those missing pages.


End file.
